“There are all kinds of love in this world
but never the same love twice.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
Love is a breeze that stirs a million tree leaves, so much, that each leaf believes it is in love with all those with whom it rustles…even as they let go and fall in Autumn.
But love must mean something different for some ‘leaves’.. or else it’s meaningless.
Each leaf, in it’s own unique wind-inspired vibration, shares with another a love as unique. Ah, the remarkable elusive, invisibility of the wind and the striking crystal clear affects of it’s curve. Each leaf believes it quivers for another on it’s own accord; but secretly it obeys the laws of nature beyond it’s comprehension. Still, all it knows of the divine Wind, is its own flutter for that of another.
What is it that gives love “meaning?” What gives each lump of clay it’s own special characteristic… is it only it’s relation to the sculptor? Must each first be “thrown” into the form of an urn to become unique or to hold and pour love?
Perhaps while each lump may seem the same, their latent potential to be something else is what truly distinguishes them. Just maybe, we lovers are all lumps of clay on the Grand Potters wheel; in love with, and seen by, the unseen. Joyful with what we are and what we are to become.
Love is never complete. As there’s never been a sunset so beautiful, that the earth and sun would conspire to not show us another day.